Hold On To My Hand
by Stella For Star
Summary: In this version the ship doesn't sink. Jack and Rose find themselves doing their best to stay together until the ship docks-and after-as they're beset by friendship complications, tested loyalties, violence, lies, and all sorts of problems. Can they make it, or will they be torn apart? Rated T but will have M moments. The story is better than the summary of its parts.
1. Chapter 1

"When the ship docks," Rose said, her breath still short from running, "I'm getting off with you." Jack's mouth turned up in an incredulous grin. "This is crazy," he said, with a slight shake of his head. She laughed. "I know. It doesn't make any sense." She looked into his eyes; calm warmth settled over her. "But that's why I trust it." His gaze flickered to her lips for the briefest of moments before the kiss overtook them. His hands tightened around her waist, pulling her closer. Her hands pressed against the back of his neck. He shivered as her fingers slipped into his hair. They were breathless when the kiss finally ended.

For a moment neither of them spoke. There were so many things to say, and yet, it seemed as though saying them was unnecessary. Hadn't Rose said it all when she made her declaration? Jack lightly caressed her cheek with his thumb as a sudden wave of tiredness washed over him. A pang of hunger twisted in his stomach, as if his body finally remembered he hadn't eaten since that morning. Despite her best efforts, a yawn escaped Rose's throat. "Let's go get something to eat," Jack said. Rose nodded. "And go to bed," she said. He grinned impishly. A faint blush covered her cheeks. "Such a presumptuous implication," she replied. Jack slipped his hand into hers, and they began to walk. "Presumptuous? Me?" he asked innocently. Rose stopped and pulled him into a quick kiss. "And rude," she murmured.

"Spoiled brat," he teased, kissing her again.

"And uncouth."

"And in love with you." He spoke lightly, but there was seriousness underneath, the same seriousness she had heard in the Renault. Rose laid her hand against his chest, above his heart. Maybe it was her imagination, but she felt the steady beat of it against her palm. It matched the beat of her own heart. "I love you, Jack," she said.

…

Rose laughed as they stumbled around the dark kitchen. "I can't believe the doors were unlocked," she said. Jack fumbled along the wall for the light switch. "I don't think they expected something like this," he replied, flicking them on. "Alright, let's what we can find." His gaze moved quickly around the room, stopping to rest on the bread cabinet. Sandwiches were the simplest—and quickest—option. "See if you can find a butter knife and a spoon," he said, grabbing a loaf of bread. Rose quickly rummaged through the drawers and let out a triumphant, "Found them!" a few seconds later. "What are we eating?" she asked. He grinned, holding up a jar of peanut butter in one hand and a jar of apple butter in the other. "My favorite."

"You mix them together?"

He looked at her quizzically. "You don't?"

"I don't think I've ever actually eaten either," she admitted. Jack didn't bother to hide his shock. "Seriously?" he said. "Never? You never ate a peanut butter sandwich as a kid?" She shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

"C'mon. I'll make you the best sandwich you've ever had," he said, taking her hand. Rose smiled at his enthusiasm. Was there nothing he wasn't eager to do? To share? As they moved through the third class corridors a realization hit her. "Jack, what about the others in your room?"

"Don't worry about it," he reassured her. "Fabrizo won't care, and the two Swedes don't spend that much time in there. They don't really talk to me and him, either. I think they're mad because we took their friends' places." He glanced over at her. It suddenly occurred to him that they hadn't discussed how things would be for the rest of the trip; he had just assumed she was staying with him. Why wouldn't she? Of course, there was the issue of clothing, but that wasn't something they needed to deal with that night. He wasn't sure exactly why, but he knew he didn't want her going back alone.

"The bottom one on the right is mine," he explained, glad the room was empty. The Swedes were probably at the all-night poker game, and Fabrizo was at the dance with Helga. If he was lucky, they would already be asleep by the time any of them returned. Rose perched on the edge of the bed. She pulled her shoes off and neatly placed them under its edge, aware for the first time, of her lack of nightclothes. Don't be silly, she told herself. It was hardly the time to start worrying about modesty and proper behavior. Jack had already seen her nude, twice in one evening.

"Are you blushing?" he asked, handing her a sandwich. She shook her head. "No." Quickly, she took a bite and was rewarded with one of the most delicious things she had ever tasted. "You were too," he pressed.

"You are mistaken, Mr. Dawson." She ate the rest of her sandwich in silence, trying to keep from gulping it down. The taste combined with the sudden gnawing in her stomach made it a difficult task.

"Like it?" he asked. She nodded. "Want another?"

"Yes, please."

He grinned. "What'd I tell you?"

A yawn overtook Rose as she finished her second sandwich. "I didn't realize how tired I am until we sat down," she said. "It's gotten worse." Jack yawned and shrugged off his shirt. "Me too," he said. Rose's eyes moved over his bare torso, taking in his smooth, lithe frame. His body was compact but well-muscled. Warmth spread through her, intensifying as she realized he intended to sleep without either his shirt or his pants. She hesitated, unsure of whether or not to remove her dress. Wouldn't it be strange not to? But then again, there were the other men to consider. Her dilemma was solved when Jack held out a light blue shirt. "It's not as nice as what you're used to," he said, "But you can sleep in it." Rose took it with a smile. The fabric was soft flannel; a strong, soapy smell came from it—the same smell Jack's other shirts carried. "Thank you," she said.

The sheets were coarse, but Rose didn't mind. She shivered as she pulled the blanket up. She didn't know if it was just nerves, or if it really was colder in that part of the ship. Looking around, she saw no signs of the personal heater her own stateroom had. Shivering again, she held the blanket up to her chin, sure it was indeed colder on the third class decks. She settled onto the pillow as Jack slipped his arms around her. "Cold?" he said. "Not anymore," she replied, snuggling closer. He kissed her forehead. "Good," he said. It hadn't occurred to either of them to question their sleeping arrangements, or to question the possible consequences of Rose's continued absence from first class. She was staying with Jack, and that was all there was to it. Nothing, he thought, as he held her tighter, absolutely nothing, save Rose herself, was going to change that.

….

"Leave the light off," Jack whispered. Fabrizo stopped, his hand on the switch. "Why are you still awake?" he asked, his words slurring slightly. "I wasn't," Jack replied. "You woke me up tryin to get that door unlocked."

Fabrizo moved unsteadily through the darkness. "Why do you want the light off?" Leaning on the end of the bunks for support, he pulled his boots off and tossed them to the floor. "Be a little quieter, would ya?" Jack said. "Rose is asleep."

The soft haze in his mind vanished. "What? You brought her here—Jack, are you crazy?"

"Ssshh! Yeah, I brought her here. Is there another place to take her?"

"She doesn't have a room of her own?" Fabrizo climbed into his bunk. "She can't go there and sleep?"

"She's staying with me."

Fabrizo let out a short laugh. "You really are crazy, crazier than I thought. You've had some ideas, but this, I can't believe. You think she's staying with you when we get to America?"

Jack's tone left no room for argument. "Yes."

"And her fiancé, he doesn't mind this?"

"It isn't really his choice, is it?"

"So, you're just gonna take her with you, wherever you go? I've been some of those places with you; it's not where a girl like that should be—or will stay." Sensing Jack's rising anger, his tone softened. "Look, Jack, you're my friend, and I don't want you doing something stupid. I helped you get up there to see her today because I knew it was important to you, but what do you have? Not just for her, for any girl? Do you think I'm asking Helga to marry me when we get to New York? No. I don't even know where to go when I get there. To my cousins that I haven't met? You're the only one I really know outside of Sicily."

A heavy silence fell as both mean realized they had never really discussed what would happen once they reached America. The trip hadn't exactly been planned, after all, though Jack knew going there was a dream of Fabrizo's. Now that Rose was in the picture, Jack knew whatever happened, it would not be like anything that had happened before. "She's staying with me," Jack repeated. "I'll deal with the rest as it comes."

"That's what you say about everything."

"I mean it about everything."

"Maybe I'll stay with you too," Fabrizo said, after a long pause. "Maybe. I don't know."

"No reason why you can't, you know. Just because—"

"Two is good. Four is good." Fabrizo shook his head. "Three isn't good."

…

Rose was looking at him when he opened his eyes. Jack smiled sleepily. "Hey, Rose Petal," he murmured. She raised an eyebrow. "Rose Petal?"

"That's what I'm gonna call ya," he yawned. "I thought of it when I was asleep. How long have you been awake?"

"Not long." She settled her head on his shoulder. "I woke up when the others left."

"They say anything?"

"I don't speak Swedish, so I don't know what it was."

"What about Fabrizo?"

"I didn't see him. He must have left before I woke up. Why? Is something wrong?" Jack shook his head. "No," he said. "Nothing's wrong." He glanced at the clock above the door. "We've still got time if you wanna get breakfast."

Rose hesitated. More than anything else, she wanted a bath and fresh clothes. She didn't want to, but she couldn't help but worry that her hair was showing signs of dirtiness, though, she told herself, if it was Jack didn't seem to notice. "Or not," he said.

"No, it's fine. I just, I need to get some more clothes," she said. "And maybe take a bath," she added. "Although, I'm not exactly what the best way to do that is." She sighed. "I suppose it's best to get it over with sooner rather than later."

"I'll go with you. You shouldn't have to do it alone." He grinned. "It's my fault, after all. Seducing you, like that."

Rose raised up so her eyes were level with his. "Jack Dawson, you did not seduce me. If anything, it was I who did the seducing."

"Oh, really?" He pressed his hand lightly against the back of her head, twisting her curls around his fingers. "So, you mean—" He pulled her into a deep kiss, reminiscent of the one they shared in the boiler room. Rose protested when he moved away. "Oh, that did have an effect," he said with a laugh. Her cheeks were crimson. Her eyes darkened slightly. "Jack," she whispered. He caressed her cheek with his thumb. "Yes?" She moved to kiss him again, but he kept out of her reach. Frustration beginning to mingle with desire, she rolled onto him, straddling him as best she could in the small space. Jack's breathing quickened, his own face flushed. His hands found her hips, steadying and moving her to where he wanted her. Rose gasped as she felt his hardness pressing against her.

Their eyes met. Smiling mischievously, she moved against him. A jolt of pleasure shot through her. He grinned. "C'mere," he said, kissing her hungrily. She squirmed as he unbuttoned her shirt, eager to be rid of it. A soft moan escaped her throat as his hands met her bare skin. Slowly, he caressed her breasts, circling her nipples with his fingertips; without warning, he pinched, ever so gently. Rose groaned. His lips moved to her neck. "Like that?" he whispered. She couldn't speak; she could only press herself into his hands, hoping her understood. "I want you," he whispered. Well, that much was obvious, she thought, but hearing him actually say the words added a thrill she hadn't thought possible. He wasn't doing anything but speaking, and yet the more he did, the more the wetness between her thighs increased. For a moment she remembered the previous night, the way his words moved across her skin like a caress. Why, she thought, shouldn't she have expected that again?

Moments later, the few remaining barriers between them were flung to the floor. Rose's head spun, drunk on desire and anticipation. Jack's hand was on her hip. Where was the other one? Why wasn't it touching her? And then, suddenly, it was, his fingertips circling, caressing, rubbing, gently pinching, as if he knew exactly what would give her the most pleasure. "Jack." Her voice was a ragged whisper. "Jack." A pressure was building inside her. She shivered as his lips brushed her ear. "You're so soft," he said. "My Rose Petal." She was trembling now, pleasure shooting through her. His hands didn't stop, and the pressure seemed to be still building. "Tell me what you want," he said.

He wanted her to speak? "I—" She groped for words. Her own hands, forgotten until that moment, found him. He let out a groan, twitching slightly against her touch. She was amazed at his hardness, but even more so at how pliable he was in her hands. She smiled, remembering the previous night's reactions to her exploration of his body. He wasn't the only one who could render a person incapable of speech.

She moaned as he guided himself inside her. And then both his hands were on her hips, holding her steady. "Jack," she gasped, rocking gently. "Does it hurt?" he asked.

"No." Her eyes fell closed; it hadn't hurt the night before either. He had asked the same question then. "Good," he had said. "It isn't supposed to, if you know how." She wondered what he meant, but it was impossible to think about it now. He held her as she moved against him, matching her movements with his own. Finding a rhythm was easy, but then, suddenly it wasn't enough. Rose clung to him, her nails pressed into his back. He brushed damp curls away from her face. "Tell me," he said. "What do you want?"

"Faster."

"Like that?"

"Yes…yes…Jack! "

And then they were flipped. Rose cried out as he left her body. He lay next to her on his belly, moaning into the sheet. With trembling lips he kissed her. "Why did you do that?" she asked. "I wasn't sure if you'd appreciate me trying to get you pregnant again," he answered. "Oh," she said. "I hadn't actually thought of that," she added with a rueful laugh. "So, you—"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Well…"

He put an arm around her. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"You look a little nervous. What's wrong?" She avoided his eyes. "Petal, tell me." He tried to catch her gaze. "Why—"

"Have there been a lot?" She said it quickly, feigning nonchalance. He studied her face. "Of women?" he said. She nodded, wishing she had never spoken. Was it really so necessary to know? Did anything he had done before matter anymore? It shouldn't, and yet, she couldn't convince herself that it didn't. It wasn't so much the possibility that he had other lovers—he was a man, after all, didn't they always? But rather, it was the possibility that somewhere there existed a woman to whom she would be compared, and she had no basis for comparison of her own, a woman he had touched exactly as he had touched her, with the same intimacy, while his were the only hands she had ever known. It was foolish, but there it was.

"What makes you sure there've been others?"

"One of us knows what he's doing, and the other doesn't," she said quietly. "One of us makes love as exquisitely as he draws. I don't think either of those skills came without practice."

Jack couldn't help but smile. "I do?"

"You know you do. Don't pretend. What was that you said last night? 'If you know how'?"

"There've been a few. But that doesn't matter now. They weren't—I don't think about them. I didn't love them. It was just…"

"Sex," she finished.

"Yeah."

"Clearly, it kept your attention," she said, managing a smile.

"I can't say it wasn't fun," he admitted. "But it wasn't like it is with you." He cupped her face. "Rose, when I'm with you, just standing beside you, not even touching you, it's like I'm flying, like everything is better, like I'm warm and whole for the first time, and I never even knew I wasn't until I felt it. Winning that ticket was the best thing that's ever happened to me, because it brought me to you." He brushed a tear away from her eye. "Hey, don't cry. I—"

"I love you," she choked out, wrapping her arms around him. "I just—I thought it would make us uneven. You've—I haven't—"

"I wasn't thinking like that," he said. "If anything, I was just glad it wasn't awful for you." He kissed her lightly. "That I didn't hurt you, that I made you happy."

"Oh, you did," she sighed. "I didn't expect—well, anything like that. I trusted you, but…." She let herself fall back against the pillow. "I've really destroyed a fine moment, haven't I?" Jack settled down next to her. He shook his head. "No. You made us miss breakfast, but—" He shrugged. "I'd miss a whole day of meals if making love with you is a choice." She laughed. "Jack, you're not serious."

"Oh, I am." He kissed her again, longer this time. "I'll show you how serious I am."

As far as they were concerned, no-one else existed, and as they were about to discover, for a few others, no-one else existed either.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: So, there's going to be a slight deviation from the movie. In this story, Rose only left the drawing of her; she didn't leave Jack's entire collection. I've never understood why she left all of them, unless Lovejoy's sudden arrival just stopped Jack from retrieving them (which is implied). But then again, he did hand her the whole thing, which doesn't make that much sense. Thanks for reading, and thanks for the comments!

…

Cal knew where Rose was even before he saw the drawing. He couldn't explain exactly how he knew; it was just like a soft _click _in the back of his head. She wasn't at dinner. Her mother hadn't seen her. There was really only one place she could be, then, wasn't there? Fuming silently, he sent Lovejoy to find her—he corrected himself, to find _them_. When Lovejoy reported no signs of them, his anger mounted. "This is a ship," he snapped. "There's only so many places she could be." He closed his eyes, willing his emotions back under control. "Lovejoy, find her."

The after dinner brandy group was just about to disband when Lovejoy appeared at his elbow. "Well?" Cal asked, moving away from the table. "Where is she?"

"They got away."

"What do you mean they 'got away'?" Cal whispered angrily.

"I found them in the suite," Lovejoy answered smoothly. "She saw me coming in, grabbed the boy, and ran. I nearly had them, but they found their way into the coal room." Cal couldn't believe his ears. "The coal room? Are you serious? They—they went into the—how did they even get—" Cal took a deep breath. "And then?"

"As to how they got in, apparently they climbed down into it. According to the foreman interviewed by the stewards I sent after them, they ignored his complaints and, ran into the cargo hold, which is where the stewards lost them."

"So, you actually have no idea where they are? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Right now," Lovejoy said, "I have no idea where they are."

…..

"Anything missing?"

Cal shook his head. "No," he said, reaching for the sheets of paper lying on the stacks of money. He ignored the note at first, too engrossed in the drawing to give it much thought. How dared she? His heart beat faster. What did she take him for? It took two tries before he successfully read and understood her note. So, she wanted him to find it, did she? Thought it would be funny for him to find it? Gripped with rage, he tore the drawing and note down the middle. How dared she? He tore them again, liking how easily they give way in his hands. "Slut," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Common slut." He gave the pieces one last tear before crumpling them in his fist.

As his head gradually began to clear, he realized that as much as he loathed it, the drawing could be helpful. "I've got an idea," he said, smoothing its wrinkled pieces. They still fit together perfectly. Despite some smudging, the image was still clear. He smiled to himself and took the diamond from its case. He tossed the case onto the floor. "I think we had better inform someone about this," he said, holding the necklace out to Lovejoy. "I wouldn't want a thief to be running around this ship, would you?"

As the night wore on, and they failed to appear, Cal's anger intensified. The flaws in his plan appeared like cracks in a mirror. Now, not only did he not know where Rose was, but half the ship knew he didn't know where she was. Not only that, but they knew about the drawing. The Master-at-Arms and his men assured him they would handle the situation with the utmost discretion, but he knew the story would be on every crew member's lips by breakfast. Ruth watched him from the corner, her eyes narrowed like a cat's. The officers left at two a.m. He expected her to speak once they were gone, but she simply went to her room, leaving a stony disapproval in her place.

There was always the next day, he told himself. She would have to come back eventually.

…

"Hold on to my hand," Rose whispered. Jack slipped his hand into hers and gave it a squeeze. "It's gonna be alright," he reassured her. "We'll be out in five minutes." She nodded. "Five minutes." Her heart skipped a beat as she took in the empty sitting room. The furniture had been moved back to its original arrangement. She stole a glance at the door that connected Cal's suite to hers. Dinner was already well underway. The odds of him being there were slim, and yet she couldn't shake a feeling of unease. The door leading to her mother's room was closed as well. It didn't seem likely that she would be there either.

Rose scanned the wardrobe, searching for the right suitcase. It had to be small enough to carry by herself and yet large enough to hold everything she needed. Never in her life had she been forced to make such a decision. Sensing her hesitation, Jack pointed at a medium sized bag near the top. "That's the one I'd use," he said.

As she studied her clothes, she realized just how useless they were. Not a single dress was appropriate for the life she was heading for. Even the simplest would stick out, instantly rendering her incapable of shedding her old life completely. Sighing loudly, she grabbed the sturdiest, least ornate day dresses; they would simply have to do. The same process was repeated with her shoes, hats, undergarments, jewelry, toiletries, until finally nothing was left save a few random items. Her diary went into the suitcase, followed by a small stack of books, a pen she was particularly fond of, and a bottle of rosewater. She didn't use scent of any kind very often, but she reasoned, it couldn't hurt to have it along. She snapped the suitcase closed with a smile. Finally. It was finished.

Jack's voice startled her. "Do you want the photos of your family?" She glanced at the series of photographs arranged on the mantel. The first was of her mother and father on their wedding day. The second was of her and Cal; it had been taken for the announcement of their engagement. The third was of Rose, her mother, and her father. Her parents stood stiffly, as if even the brief contact necessary for the photograph were too much. In both, Rose stared vacantly into the camera, as if she weren't really there, but rather, just an empty body the photographer had found. "No," she said firmly. With one sweep of her arm she knocked them to the floor. "I don't want any of them." She felt strangely light, as if some part of her were in danger of slipping away. Dimly, she was aware of Jack's gaze, like a pair of hands on her shoulders. He was waiting for her to make the next move. She didn't intend to say it, but when she opened her mouth the words poured out. "When your parents died, did you cry?" She felt him move closer but couldn't turn around. She waited for the questions, the outrage at such an inappropriate inquiry, but it didn't come. "Not at first," he said. "Later on, after everything was over, and I went home, by myself, and realized that I was—that it was just me. I did then." He gently placed his hands on her arms. "Why?"

Her voice shook. "I didn't. When my father died, I didn't react at all, actually. I was afraid to." He slipped his arms around her. "Why?"

"I was glad he died." She forced herself to face him. "I thought things would be better once he was gone. I thought we would be free, but now I know I was wrong." The words kept coming, despite her attempts to stop them. "My mother didn't care for my father at all, and I thought it was because of how he was, but that wasn't it—not in the way I thought. She believed he was weak. I was terrified of him as a child, and she thought he was weak. " She laughed bitterly. "Do you know why I'm supposed to marry Cal? It's because he didn't leave us anything. The business was his in name only. He hadn't saved any money. He hadn't actually made any in years." She laughed again, louder this time. "Oh, that's right. He left his bills." Her hands shook. Tears stung her eyes. She tried to speak, but the words were lost in a sob. Jack pressed her to him, hugging her tightly. "It's alright," he murmured soothingly. "It's gonna be alright." He kissed the top of her head. She tried to stifle her tears, though her body still shook. "Don't do that," he said. "Don't keep holding it in. I've got you. I'm right here."

Eventually, the shaking subsided. Rose raised her head. "I should feel guilty for leaving her like this, but I don't. If I loved him—" She faltered. "If he weren't—" Jack wiped a tear from her eye. "Don't worry about things you don't feel," he said. "It's not up you to save anyone but yourself." She lightly ran her thumb across his cheek, a trace of a smile on her lips. "I love you," she said. He kissed her hand. "I love you too. Are you alright now?" She nodded. "Okay," he continued. "Let's go."

Rose sighed as they passed into the sitting room. "I wish we could take them," she said, stopping in front of the Monet. Jack crouched down to get a better look. His artist's eye moved over the painting, taking in every brush stroke, every dab of color. He could have spent days studying it. "I do too," he murmured. "I don't know how we'd carry them, though." Suddenly gripped by unease, Rose laid a hand on his shoulder. She hated to tear him away, but she knew they had stayed too long.

What she couldn't know, however, was that they had stayed too long simply by arriving. Moments after they entered the suite, Lovejoy hurried off to the dining room to inform Cal, who, not wanting to waste another evening, had left him to keep watch. Ruth eyed him suspiciously during his whispered conference with the valet. They still hadn't spoken about Rose's disappearance, or anything else, for that matter. None of it would have happened if he had been able to keep Rose's attention, or if that was too difficult, curb her untoward behavior. There was only so much she, as a mother, could do, and it wasn't as though she hadn't tried. Her eyes burned into him as he excused himself from the dinner table, claiming Rose needed him. He had her to thank for that story; he hadn't bothered to try and explain her absence. No, he had involved the ship's crew, insuring gossip would spread.

The door from Cal's suite opened as Jack stood back up. There was no moment of tension, no paralysis as each person scrambled to process the situation; the opposite happened, as everyone began moving at once. Rose and Jack each grasped for the other's hand. He reached down and scooped up her suitcase. Cal's eyes narrowed; brute strength and power radiating from him like a scent, he moved toward them. Lovejoy was on his heels. Panic gripped Rose. No, it couldn't be happening. She tightened her hold on Jack's hand, memories of the previous morning playing in her mind. No. No. No. She turned and began to run toward the nearest door, pulling Jack along behind her.

She was just about to open the door when she felt a strong tug, pulling her backwards. As she fell she saw Cal's hand close around the empty air where her curls had just been. He wore a grotesque mask of fury; it was worse than the one she had already seen, more savage, as if the violence he had held in check that morning was boiling to the surface. He turned, already reaching for her again, though whether to grab or to hit her it was impossible to tell. She was saved from hitting the floor by Jack's arm. He held her close, almost behind him, as his fist smashed into Cal's jaw.

He reeled backwards, stunned by the blow. Jack turned to meet Lovejoy, dodging his fist and pushing Rose behind him. Blood pounded in his ears. He stood between the other two men, fists ready, like a statue of a knight defending his lady. The rage blazing in Cal's eyes was reflected in Jack's. It didn't matter that there were two of them and one of him; they weren't getting near her. Rose watched, frozen, as the three men eyed one another, each waiting for one of the others to move. Finally, it happened. Cal advanced toward Jack from one side as Lovejoy advanced from the other. He dodged one blow while deflecting another. They were bigger men, but he moved faster, like a fox slipping around dogs. He threw another punch at Cal, hitting his mouth. Blood spurted from his lip. Lovejoy grabbed his shirt. Jack jabbed at him with his elbow, managing to hit his ribs. He was too distracted to see Cal, who landed a blow to his stomach. Jack pitched forward, gasping for air.

Howling, Rose ran at Cal. She hit with a strength she didn't know she possessed, though, not caring what part of him she hit, she swung randomly. He staggered backwards under the force of her blows, but it wasn't enough to incapacitate him for long. He ducked, dodging her fist, and grabbed her hair. She clawed his wrist, but his grip was firm. He yanked her toward him. The crack of his palm against her cheek echoed throughout the room. Pain swam before her eyes as he slapped her again. In the background, she heard the sounds of Jack and Lovejoy fighting, but it sounded like something heard through a tunnel. Jack yelled, his voice harsh with anger. Strengthened by the sound, she tried to twist free. Cal wrenched her back. Curls stuck to his palm as he grabbed her by the arm and pushed her against the wall. She kicked wildly as another slap landed on her cheek. His fingers dug into her arm.

And then Jack was there, lip bleeding, one eye puffy and already bruised, skin torn from the knuckles on his right hand, but still the knight.

A new energy coursed through Rose. She ducked, avoiding Cal's hand, and with a well-aimed kick, sent him stumbling backwards. She rushed past him. Jack moved in front of her, blocking Cal's path. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lovejoy sprawled on the floor on the other side of the room. Instinctively, she pressed close to Jack. He eyed Cal coolly, silently daring him to move. His back was straight, but his body was loose. Cal's anger overtook him, clouding his judgment, but Jack's did not. Through everything, he remained in control.

Cal's gaze drifted from Lovejoy to Jack and back again. His mouth twisted in disgust, but he didn't move. "Get your bag, Rose," Jack said finally. "We're leaving." He put his arm around her waist as they turned to go. Cal's voice cut through the air. "You're going with _him_?" Rose met his glare with one of her own. "To—to—be a whore to a gutter rat?" She tossed her head defiantly. "I'd rather be his whore than your wife," she replied coldly. Cal couldn't believe his ears. "How dare you," he hissed, advancing toward her. "You're nothing but a cheap slut in a silk dress." Jack's presence was forgotten. His hands were up, ready to strike or to grab. "You'd let anyone—" His words were lost in a shocked gasp. He stared at Jack's hand around his throat. "You—" That was all he could manage. Jack tightened his grip. "You're not gonna touch her again," he commanded quietly. "You're not gonna speak to her. You're not even gonna look at her." Cal struggled to free himself. Jack squeezed harder. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" he asked. "Stay the hell away from my wife."

…

They hurried through the corridors, looking back every few steps to make sure they weren't being followed. They received shocked stares from the people they passed, but they didn't notice. Music flowed from the third class common area; that night's party was in full swing, with no signs of letting up anytime soon. Jack hoped that meant his room was empty.

It was. With a grateful sigh, he pushed the door closed and locked it. Rose sank onto his bed; her head fell forward and her shoulders slumped. He sat down next to her, leaning forward, elbows on his legs. Rose glanced over at him. A shock of hair covered his eyes. His mouth was thinned by a frown. One side was swollen, the bruise covered by dried blood. His hands were clasped.

He offered no resistance as she wrapped her arms around him. Gently, she placed his head on her chest, just below her shoulder. He settled against her with a sigh. She brushed the hair away from his face, and slowly rubbed her thumb across his cheek. "That's what I do," he murmured.

"Right now, it's what I'm doing."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Why?"

"I didn't protect you." He lifted his head. The left side of her face was bruised and puffy. Her arms were ringed with blue. "That should've never happened," he continued. "I shoulda gone by myself—" Rose cut him off. "Why? Because I'm too fragile? I can't handle what just happened?"

"No, you—" He sighed. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. It's not alright for you get hurt, for me to be there and not stop it." He took her face in his hands. "I don't need you to tell me you're strong. I see it. I saw it the night we met. But don't think I'll ever stop trying to protect you."

"Men protect their wives."

He nodded. "We do."

"But we aren't married, Jack."

He kissed her. "Yeah, we are. I feel married to you." He brushed a stray curl away from her face. "And that feeling is all I need." He covered her hands with his. "I love you. I promise to take care of you and make you happy. I'm going to show you the whole world; take you out to the horizon every day if you want. For the rest of our lives. Or until you don't want me anymore," he added with a grin. "If you want it legal, I'll do it. Whenever, wherever. Just say the word, Rose Petal."

Rose spoke slowly. "Jack, I promise to take care of you and make you happy. I want our lives to be an adventure that never wastes a moment. I want to watch you make art out of everything around us. I love you so much. I don't need anything else." She pulled him into a long, passionate kiss. "It won't always be easy," he said.

"I know it won't. I don't expect it to be." She smiled. "But we have each other."

"Someday, I wanna have babies with you too," he said. She giggled. "You do?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "What'd ya think?"

"I hadn't thought about it," she admitted. "Until you mentioned it this morning, that is. That's such a strange thought. It's hard to imagine."

His brow furrowed. "It's hard to imagine with me?"

"I don't like my mother very much," she explained. "I'm not always I love her, though I know I should. She's always done what she thought was best for me, but that hasn't included knowing very much about me or even spending much time with me, outside of meals and social events. Jack, I was brought up by nurses and governesses. When I was ten, my parents sent me away to school for five years. I only came home for holidays. I don't know what a mother does."

Jack was silent for a moment. His eyes dimmed as the full impact of her words sank in. "We don't have to have them if you don't want to."

"It isn't that I don't want to," she said. "But not for a long time. Not until I'm sure I can do it. I don't our children growing up the way I did. And I don't want us to stop living because we have them, either. We'll take them with us when we head out for the horizon." Jack pulled her into a hug. "Alright," he answered. "That's what we'll do. So, when this ship finally docks, where is it you wanna go?"


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Please let me know what you think. Thanks to everyone who has given me comments. I hope you like this chapter.  
**

It seemed to Rose that everyone in the third class dining room was watching them; she felt dozens of eyes on her as she followed Jack around the room. Some of the looks were merely curious; some were hostile, and some, she knew, were just in her imagination. He moved with his usual good-humored grace, greeting acquaintances and flashing a grin at those who met his gaze. If he hadn't been holding her hand, Rose doubted she would have been able to keep going. She smoothed the front of her dress. It was the simplest one she owned, pale yellow silk, short sleeved, with no frills, and yet she felt as though it were made from gold cloth with diamonds sewn into it. But then again, she reminded herself, the bruise covering the left side of her face probably had something to do with it. Despite her best efforts to cover it with hair, it was still more than a little visible.

Finding a secluded spot in the crowded room was difficult, but somehow Jack managed. Unsure of what to do, Rose let him take charge of getting breakfast. He grinned sheepishly as he set a plate piled high with pancakes, eggs, toast, sausage, and bacon in front of her. "I didn't know what you'd want," he explained. "Though, I guess I could've just asked." Rose smiled, no longer caring how many looks came their way. "I could have just told you," she said. "But I like this."

"Which part?"

"All of it."

She ate with a focus he couldn't help but watch. She seemed to fighting an inward battle, between controlling her appetite and giving in to it. "I don't care how fast you eat," he said. "Or how much." Startled, she looked up at him. "Have you been watching the whole time?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "You look like you're enjoying food more."

"I've always enjoyed food," she protested.

"You're not tryin to hide it the way you did before," he said. "At dinner the other night you ate really slowly, taking those impossibly small bits. At one point I wasn't sure you were even gonna finish. You're not doing that so much now. It's good."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I do. You're more comfortable. You're letting yourself have the things you want." He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "I want you to do that."

A mischievous note crept into her voice. "All of the things I want?" He caressed her palm with his fingertips. "Yes," he replied, looking into her eyes with an intensity that made her shiver. "All of them."

"Um—" Rose struggled for words. How did he do this to her? It wasn't fair. Jack held back a grin. "You alright?" he asked. Laughter lurked beneath her glare. "You shouldn't do that," she said. "Especially not in public. What if I were to lose all control and throw myself at you? Everyone would know what a wanton wife you have. What then, Mr. Dawson?"

"If you're finished with breakfast, I'll tell you all about what then," he teased. "I might even show you."

Tommy's voice stopped her from answering. "Jack, why're you over here by yourself? Christ, what happened to you?" His gaze landed on Rose. "Oh," he said. "Sorry, miss." Rose titled her head to the side, covering her injured face with her hand. "It's fine," she said.

"We were just about to go, but you can sit down," Jack offered. Tommy hesitated a moment before taking the empty chair next to Jack. "So, you found her," he said, hoping to break through the awkwardness. Rose looked at him quizzically. "Found me?"

"What, two days ago, wasn't it, Jack? Fabrizo and me helped him climb over some railings to go talk to you."

Rose shot Jack an amused glance. "Oh, you did? What made you do that?"

"Well—"

"We were gonna go," Jack interrupted. He looked over at Rose. "Right?" She nodded, a laugh tucked behind her lips. "So, we'll see you later," he said, clapping Tommy on the shoulder. "It was nice to see you again," Rose said politely. Tommy just nodded and waved as they walked away.

"Something you didn't want me to hear?" Rose giggled. Jack slipped an arm around her waist. "No," he said. "Let's take a walk."

A comfortable silence enveloped them as they navigated the maze of corridors. Rose looked at everything, fascinated by how different everything was. It was almost like being on a different ship entirely. She smiled shyly at the people they passed. Most of them smiled back, but some gave her confused looks. A few of the women eyed her dress with envy. She glanced over at Jack and was surprised to see the change in his demeanor. He wasn't simply strolling, but rather, moving with a sense of purpose. There was none of the casual ease with which he had moved only days before. "Are you—is that a look of pride?" she asked, moving closer.

"What're you talking about?"

"It is. You're carrying yourself almost like a gentleman," she said. "If pride is the dominant trait for such a thing, that is. It certainly seems to be. What's brought this on?"

"Nothing," he said. "Are you saying I didn't look like I've got pride before now?"

"You looked confident, not prideful," she explained.

He hesitated. "Is it really obvious?"

"It might just be obvious to me. I don't know if anyone else looks at you the way I do."

"It's you," he said.

Rose's brow furrowed. She stopped walking. "What?"

"It's you," he repeated. "It's walking with you, being seen with you. Knowing—knowing you're mine." Before she could respond he continued, "Not the way Cal thought you were his. You aren't a _thing_. You know that. But you're a beautiful, graceful, smart—you are—" He took her hands. "You don't need me to tell you everything that's wonderful about you. And neither does anyone else. When I see people looking at us together, I can't help but feel proud to be next to you." Rose studied their hands. "Is that bad?" he asked. "Do you—"

"No, it's not," she said softly. She kissed his knuckles. "I think it's the way you're supposed to feel when you love someone. That's how I feel about you."

"You're just better at hiding it?" he teased, as they began walking again,

"I'm better at hiding all of my feelings," she said. "When I want to."

"I've never tried," he said. "I might be good at it."

"Don't try," Rose said, following him out onto the deck. She breathed deeply, enjoying the smell of the fresh air. There was something stifling about third class. The corridors felt narrow; the rooms felt small and cramped. "I intend to give it up."

"Good."

"Tell me something," she said.

"What do you want to know?"

"Something interesting." She leaned against the railing. Her voice took on a mock dramatic tone. "Tell me a story about your grand adventures." He leaned next to her. "Alright," he said, taking a cigarette from his pocket. He lit it and took a drag. "I'll tell ya about the time I got arrested in France."

"Can I have part of that?"

"What?" He held up the cigarette. "This?" She nodded. "Sure," he said, passing it to her. "I didn't think ladies smoked."

"They don't," she replied. "My mother is always telling me how she doesn't like it." She passed it back. "Do you mind?"

"Not really," he said, slightly amused. "So, you don't mind if I do?" She moved closer to him. "Actually," she said, her cheeks coloring faintly. "I like it." He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you do?" he said. He puffed out his chest. "Makes me look manly, does it? Rugged?" Rose laughed. "I like the way you look when you're holding a cigarette. I like the way it smells on you."

"I didn't think that was something most people liked."

"Only on you," she explained. "It seems…natural on you. What was this about getting arrested in France?"

"Oh right, that. Well, I decided to go see Monet's garden. I didn't just jump over the wall, if that's what you're thinking. I went to the front door of his house, knocked, and tried to get invited in."

Rose leaned closer, eager to hear more. "Did you?"

Jack hesitated. "No," he said. "I didn't really know what I was gonna do. I just went up, rang the doorbell, and waited for someone to answer." He leaned closer to her, warming to his story. "This guy opens the door, the butler, valet—"

"Probably butler."

"Whoever he was, he wasn't too happy to see me." Jack laughed. "I told him this story about how my car had broken down—I was driving to my house, on my way from Paris—and asked if I could use his telephone."

"You actually said that?"

"Yeah. Me, with my patched shirt and holes in my shoes, sayin I had a house in the country. I had my drawings tucked under my arm—to show Monet."

"Of course."

"He told me to leave. I pretended to. I don't know why I did it. I just—I'd made it all the way there. I was so close. All I wanted was to see it. For one second. And that's when I hopped over the wall."

"What did it look like?"

"Like his paintings. It was…" Jack's eyes took on a faraway look. A dreamy smile spread across his face. "Rose, it was beautiful. It was—it was amazing. I wanted to sit there and draw for hours." He sighed, letting go of the memory. "I was there about twenty minutes before the cops showed up. Got arrested for trespassing and spent a month in jail because I didn't have enough money to pay the fine."

"Was it horrible?"

"In some ways." He passed her the cigarette again. "Not being able to come and go when I wanted, that was hard. The food was awful, but—" He shrugged. "That wasn't completely new. It was drafty. The bed was like a rock. It was really the confinement that made it hard. I couldn't draw. I didn't have anything to read. No card games. Nothin to do, really, but sit around and talk to the guys in the cell with me. They couldn't really speak English, though, and I couldn't really speak French." He tossed the finished cigarette into the water. "I wanna go back there someday," he said thoughtfully. "France, I mean," he added. "I wanna go with you."

"We should go back to Monet's gardens," she said eagerly.

"And get arrested?"

"No, we'll be guests."

"Oh, really?"

She nodded. "You'll be a famous artist, and I'll be your fascinating wife."

"Just my wife? That's all?"

"For now. I haven't decided what I want to do yet. I don't know what I'm good at." She thought for a moment. "I want to try acting."

"You should do it."

She smiled. "Maybe I will."

"So, how did I get to be a famous artist?" he asked. She reached for his hand. As they fell into step she said, "I haven't quite figured out the details yet, but I know it happens. You're too talented for it not to happen."

"I could still languish in obscurity," he said. "No-one's really liked my drawings so far."

"But have you stopped drawing? Stopped working at it?"

"No. I don't think I could stop if I tried," he admitted. "I've always drawn. Love doesn't describe how I feel about it. I'd like to be able to get paid for doing it, but I can live without that, just as long as there's always time to do it and I've got the money for a few more blank sheets of paper and another pencil."

"I wouldn't love you any less if that's how things turned out," she said. "You know that, don't you? It's just, I know that isn't how it will be, the same way I know we'll actually go to that pier you told me about. At that moment, when you agreed we'd do it, I knew…somehow, we would end up together. I didn't want to think about it, really. It was overwhelming, the thought of actually going off with you, but I knew I would do it."

Jack wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. "I knew you would too," he said, looking into her eyes. She smiled up at him. "Aren't you going to kiss me?" He leaned in but pulled back just as their lips were about to touch. "I'll kiss you later," he said, grinning.

"Why later?" she asked, hiding her disappointment.

"You'll see."

….

"Rose is doing much better. I'm sure she'll be more than well enough to handle the docking tomorrow," Ruth said. The Countess nodded politely as she sipped her tea. "It's a shame she's had to miss the last few days of the voyage," she said. The other women at the table murmured sympathetically. Ruth smiled, graciously but regretful. "There will be others," she said. The Countess dropped her napkin over her teacup. "Shall we take the air on the boat deck?" she asked. The other women rose in unison, like a small flock of perfectly trained swans. Molly remained in her chair. Ruth, the last one in the group, was stepping away from the table when she spoke. "Is Rose really sick?"

Ruth froze. "What a rude question. Of course she is," she said stiffly. "Where else would she be, if not ill in bed?"

"With Jack, maybe."

The color drained from Ruth's face. "How dare you say such a thing," she hissed quietly. "I will not stand here and listen to such slanderous—"

"She is with him, isn't she?"

Ruth glared at her. "It is none of your—"

"I know. I know, it's none of my business," Molly said. "But you and me both know no-one's believin that story you've been telling. They're all just too polite to admit it." She snorted. "Sometimes being polite doesn't get ya anywhere, though." Ruth sank back into her chair. "They all know, don't they?" she said.

"I'm just guessin, but yeah, I'd say they all know—or think they know—something."

Ruth struggled for air. "Why are you so interested?"

"I don't really know," Molly answered. "Maybe it's because I like them. They're nice kids."

"Children is exactly what they are," Ruth said angrily. "Rose is a child. She has no more idea of what the world out there holds for her than—"

"She's a child to us," Molly corrected. "Not to herself. And she's old enough to marry Cal, who's what, twice her age? Isn't that right?" Ruth scowled. "He's not twice her age," she said.

"He didn't miss it by much," Molly said drily. "And if he didn't all those millions comin to him you'd be able to see that. What's a man his age got to offer a young girl like her—besides those millions, that is?"

"What else does he need?"

Molly shook her head. "I figured you'd say that. You know she can't stand him, don't you? It's hard just to watch them sittin next to each other at lunch."

"She'll learn to like him. She just has to realize what's important. Cal can provide her with security. He can give her anything she wants." Ruth fought to keep her voice low. "He can _protect her._ I won't always be around to make sure she's alright. She needs a strong man in her life, one who can curb those wild impulses of hers. Oh, I know what you think. You think it's unfair to ask her to behave like a well-brought up woman, but what do you think happens to women who don't? And if she refuses to grow up, do you think she stands a chance in this world without a man like Cal behind her? He might be willing to indulge her, and if he is, the world will accept her only because he says they must. Without him, she has nothing." Ruth's cheeks were red. "Don't you understand that?"

"How do you expect the world to ever change if you just keep on doin it wants?" Molly asked. "You say you want things to be okay for her, but why is that the only way? And what happens if Cal loses his money the day after she marries him? It's happened, you know." Ruth didn't respond. "I saw the way those two looked at each other," Molly continued, ignoring Ruth's glare. "They're crazy about each other. I've seen boys look at girls like that before. You know what usually happens? They marry them."

"He won't marry her," Ruth spat.

"Because you think he won't or because you don't intend to let him?"

"He's a vagabond." Ruth grimaced as if each word were poison. "A rootless, penniless, thoughtless tramp who should never have come anywhere near her. What does he know about taking care of a girl like her?"

"What happens if she doesn't come back?"

"What?" Ruth gasped. "If she doesn't—of course she'll—she knows what's at stake. She's a foolish girl, but she isn't—" Ruth's shoulder slumped. "I saw those bruises on Cal's face," Molly said. "He didn't spread the powder around enough. He tell you how he got those?" Ruth sighed heavily. "I don't know what I'll do if she doesn't come back," she said, her voice small.

…

"It's your turn," Jack said. "I'm outta stories for today." He sat down on a bench and crossed his arms. "I wanna hear one." Rose sat down next to him. "I don't have anything that interesting to tell," she said. "My experiences are those of a well-brought up girl, and they're boring."

"You're not gettin out of it that easily," he said. "I know some things worth remembering have happened." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Where did you go to school?"

"Pency Preparatory for Girls," she replied. "It was in upstate New York. All of the best families on the East Coast sent their daughters there. I learned how to serve tea properly, how to waltz, and how to do fine needlework."

Jack looked impressed. "You can sew?"

"Yes. It keeps the hands busy without ruining them," she said. "I can embroider. I can mend tears and holes. I even made a whole dress once, but it took me two weeks. My mother can sew. It takes her no time at all to cut and stitch up a new dress." She smiled, warming to her subject. "When I was fourteen," she said, "I was supposed to go to this party being given by the Mitfords for their daughter, Lavinia. Mrs. Mitford and Mother were friends—rivals, really, but they acted like friends even though it was obvious to everyone how much they hated one another—and so a few weeks before the party a new dress had to be ordered for me. I couldn't arrive in anything they'd seen me wear before."

"Of course not," Jack said. "Who wears their clothes more than once?"

"We can't all look as handsome as you do with only four shirts," she said drily, but still smiling. "You said you wanted a story. This is it. The dress was beautiful. It was lavender and white—chiffon. I'd never had a dress with such a low neckline. I couldn't believe it, at first. It clung to me—it—it was my first real, grown-up dress, actually. When I put it on I didn't look like a shy fourteen year old girl. I was beautiful. Mother had always told me I was, but I didn't believe her until then. I loved looking at myself in it. Two days before the party, Mother happened to see Mrs. Mitford at the seamstress's shop. She was having the same dress made for Lavinia." She paused, waiting for Jack's comment. He held his hand up. "I'm not mocking. I'm listening."

"Mother was furious," she went on. "But she didn't let anyone see. She sent Fiona, one of our maids, out on an errand. Fiona returned with a package wrapped in brown paper. Mother took it up to her room, locked the door, and didn't come down until the morning of the party." Rose turned to Jack. "She made a whole new dress for me. Designed and sewed it. It didn't need any alteration at all; it fit perfectly. It was even more beautiful than the first one."

After a long pause, she said, "I've never known whether she did it for me or for herself. Was it to spare me embarrassment or to spare herself?" She looked around, as if suddenly remembering where she was. "It must be lunchtime," she said. "We're practically the one people still out here." She stood up. "I'm a bit hungry. Are you?" Jack studied her face. "I could eat," he said. "Let's go."

The third class dining room was more crowded than before. Finding two empty chairs looked impossible. "Over here," Tommy called, waving to them from across the room. They settled into the last remaining seats at his table. "Thanks," Jack said.

"Yes, thank you," Rose added.

"It's nothing. Where've you two been all morning?" he asked, shooting Jack a knowing glance. "Walking," Jack said. "It's a nice day." Rose watched the exchange; she didn't know whether to gasp or laugh when the meaning of Tommy's looks became clear. What a thing to insinuate! And yet, before his interruption at breakfast, weren't they on their way to—She shoved the thought aside.

"I haven't seen you in awhile, Fabrizo," Jack said. Fabrizo shrugged. "I've been enjoying my last few days on the ship," he said. "We dock tomorrow, you know."

"Oh, that's right, we do," Rose said. Her eyes lit up. "I hope it's in the morning. It seems like we've been on this ship for months."

"Where're you planning to go?" Tommy asked. "New York, for a little bit," Jack said. "Until we have more money. Then—" He looked at Rose. "We don't know," she finished, excitement in her voice. "Hey, I don't know either," Tommy said with a laugh. "Do you, Fabrizo?" Fabrizo shook his head. "I've got a few cousins in New York," he said. "I don't really know them though."

"We've all got family somewhere in America," Tommy said. "And we all don't know them. Even Jack here."

"Not me," Jack said. "I've got no-one but Rose."

"So, they're really all gone?" Fabrizo said. "You weren't exaggerating?"

"There's no-one worth claiming. Anyone that was close enough kin to me to matter is gone," Jack said. "I might share a name with a few people, but I don't know 'em."

Lunch was nearly over when Fabrizo locked eyes with Jack. "You have no idea what you're gonna do?" he asked. "None," Jack said. "Only vague, beautiful dreams."

"I might spend some time with you, after we get to New York," Fabrizo said slowly. He glanced at Rose. "If you don't mind. Until I know what to do next."

"Are you asking me?" Rose said. She turned to Jack. "Is it up to—Well, why not? I wouldn't mind. If I had a best friend, I'm sure I'd like to have her around." Jack kissed her cheek. "You don't hafta," he murmured.

"I know," she said. "I don't have to do anything I don't want to do."


End file.
